by Daniele De Serto
Translated from Italian by Wendell Ricketts
The whole inside of the car smells like French fries.
Sophie is extracting them one by one from the bag and then, after examining each one carefully, threading them into her mouth. I’m driving one-handed. My left arm is out of commission, and I’ve got it propped against the edge of the window, my elbow sticking out. Every once in a while I use my driving hand to reach for a French fry, which means I have to let go of the steering wheel for a few seconds. I’m doing it because it’s part of a show I’m putting on for Sophie, so she can see exactly what kind of cool and simpatico dude her dad really is. Which is also why my left arm has to stay put. Little details like that are important, especially because we’ve only got another dozen or so miles together before it’s bye-bye. Continue reading
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